Lullaby for a Stormy Night
by USxArthurxKirklandxUK
Summary: Songfic, one-shot/ficlet; England comforts a crying colonial America on a stormy night with a lullaby. song: "Lullaby for a Stormy Night" by Vienna Teng ... Pure cuteness


Lullaby for a Stormy Night

**Summary: Songfic, one-shot/ficlet; England comforts a crying (colonial) America on a stormy night with a lullaby. (song: "Lullaby for a Stormy Night" by Vienna Teng).**

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England stretched out the sitting room sofa, sighing in exhaustion. He was too tired to make his way up to his room. Another day spent fighting the French Git and Spain... Well worth it, though. Quite a few victories. Yawning, he pulled a blanket over himself, intent on getting some well-deserved shut-eye. Outside the window, rain pelted against the glass panes of America's house. The younger nation didn't know he was here yet - after all, it was well past midnight, and there was no way America would be up that late, despite his night-owlish habits.

It began with whimpering. Before long, England could hear full out sobs. Curious, he pushed the quilt off himself, ignoring it as it fell next to his military jacket. He gently tread up the stairs, quiet as a mouse.

He gently pressed his ear against America's door. Soft sobbing came through the wood, accompanied by sharp intakes of breaths and quiet moans, which after a moment, England recognized as his name - "Arthur, Arthur--Come back, Arthur--"

England pushed the door open. "Alfred, are you all right?"

Instantly, the younger blonde had his arms thrown around England's waist, crying into his nightshirt. "You're back... Arthur..." America gave a small _hic_, and clutched at England's shirt as if it were a lifeline. England smiled down at him comfortingly, and gently picked up the boy. He'd grown a few inches since he'd last seen him. _Alfred, you grow like a weed_, England thought fondly. He crawled onto America's bed, placing America on his lap, his head cradled against his chest and shoulder, shushing him as gently as he could.

"Just a storm," he promised. "Don't be afraid, Alfred." He'd protect Alfred from anything he could - invasion, France's influence, dangers from his own country... But there were some things that the Englishman couldn't do.

"But--_hic_--it always gets like this after you leave, and it's scary... I don't wanna be alone anymore, Arthur!"

"Shhh, I know," Arthur said gently, rocking his colony slightly. He was never this gentle. He was Arthur Kirkland, feared and respected by all, a force to be reckoned with. And here he was, shushing a child like a mother, having kittens over his little Alfred having a simple fear of thunder. But he couldn't care less - Alfred held a special place in his heart. Alfred was his soft spot, and it wasn't that hard to figure out. If someone hurt Alfred, that would hurt England ten times more.

"Arthur..."

"Hush. I'm here."

"You won't leave?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Arthur brushed blonde hair away from sky blue eyes, smiling down at him. "I'll protect you, Alfred. Don't concentrate on the storm. Look at me. Listen to me. Ignore everything else."

"I can't," America whimpered, his hands fisting into the soft cloth of Arthur's shirt. "It's too loud, too--"

"Shh." England adjusted Alfred in his lap again. "Hush now, hush..."

America closed his eyes, still clutching at England. "I'm a coward... Afraid of something like this.."

"We're all afraid of something, Alfred."

"I'm afraid of storms and ghosts, and--"

"Like I said, we're all afraid of something," England said comfortingly. "I promise you that much."

"Not you. You're not afraid of anything."

"Rubbish," England smiled. "I'm afraid of plenty."

"Don't lie to make me feel better."

"I'm not, Alfred."

"What're you afraid of, then?" America challenged.

"That doesn't matter," England said quickly, unable to really think of anything he was afraid of at the moment. He'd outgrown most of his childhood fears early-on, as he had, for the most part, raised himself. Alfred jumped again when there was a bright flash and rather loud boom of thunder. England hummed gently, rocking him. "Calm down... It's just rain... The whole world needs rain, Alfred."

Alfred's hands gripped at his nightshirt. "Don't leave again," America whispered. "Stay here. It's not as scary if you're with me."

"Shh." England adjusted Alfred in his grip, the small boy's head in the crook of his neck. Even if Alfred was getting bigger, he was still so small, defenseless.... His feet barely reached his lap, dangling as England supported him.

_"Little child, be not afraid..._

_Though rain pounds harshly against the glass,_

_Like an unwanted stranger, there is no danger._

_I am here tonight."_

America calmed somewhat, listening to England's tenor voice gently croon at him, the rocking motion of England's body becoming a soothing, welcome sensation.

_"Little child, be not afraid..._

_Though thunder explodes and lighting flash_

_Illuminates your tear-stained face,_

_I am here tonight."_

America brushed an arm across his face, trying to wipe away the tears the had built up in his eyes. "Arthur..."

_"And someday you'll know,_

_That nature is so._

_The same rain that draws you near me,_

_Falls on rivers and land,_

_On forests and sand,_

_Makes the beautiful world that you'll see_

_In the morning."_

Alfred felt his eyelids becomming heavy. Arthur had sung lullabies before, but they were always only a single verse long, and he seemed to rush through them, embarassed. The fact that the older country was taking his time and singing slowly, softly to him was almost more soothing than the fact that he was singing at all.

_"Little child, be not afraid..._

_Though storm clouds mask your beloved moon_

_And its candlelight beams, still keep pleasant dreams._

_I am here tonight._

_Little child, be not afraid..._

_Though wind makes creatures of our trees,_

_And their branches to hands, they're not real, understand,_

_and I am here tonight."_

America glanced out the window. Trees were trees, weren't they? He didn't remember saying anything about them scaring him...

_"For you know, once even I was a_

_Little child... and I was afraid..._

_But a gentle someone always came,_

_To dry all my tears, trade sweet sleep for fears,_

_And to give a kiss good night._

_Well now I am grown,_

_And these years have shown,_

_That rain's a part of how life goes._

_But it's dark and it's late,_

_So I'll hold you and wait,_

_'Til your frightened eyes do close."_

America felt his eyelids drift shut. "Arthur... 'm not a'scared of trees... They don't turn into monsters, 'cause they ain't..."

England smiled against America's hair. "I was." He didn't bother to correct Alfred's horrible grammer.

_"And I hope that you'll know..._

_That nature is so._

_The same rain that draws you near me,_

_Falls on rivers and land,_

_On forests and sand,_

_Makes the beautiful world that you'll see_

_In the morning._

_Everything's fine in the morning._

_The rain'll be gone in the morning,_

_But I'll still be here in the morning."_

America's soft, even breathing told England that the colony had fallen asleep. He kissed the young blonde's forehead, laying him down on his bed, tucking him into the slightly creaky bed with a warm quilt that he realized was from his bed. Smiling gently, he lay next to America, brushing blonde hair from closed blue eyes, petting it back and gazing down at his charge adoringly. "Good night, Alfred."

True to his word, when America woke up the next morning, England was curled up next to him, breathing softly in sleep, one arm holding him close.


End file.
